


Angora

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Bed Warming, Established Relationship, Ficlet, M/M, Sibling Incest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-05
Updated: 2015-06-05
Packaged: 2018-04-02 23:42:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4078378
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Boromir comes to keep Faramir warm.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Angora

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

Winter’s come quickly, and with it the wind, raging hard against the stone walls and battering against all the windows. By the time Boromir returns to his room, he’s aching and sore, thoroughly ready to slip below the covers. He finds a new set of blankets on his matress, thick and lush: the rewards of being a son of the steward. Yet when he runs his hands over the brown fabric, all he can think is that he’s not the only son. And he knows better than to hope that their father will have had servants bring Faramir the same.

Faramir is likely curled up in too-thin sheets, huddling alone in the dark, watching his own breath freeze before his face. Wincing, Boromir begins to gather all the blankets up in his arms. He doesn’t even bother to take off his boots. He can’t get any rest while he knows that Faramir suffers. 

Faramir’s quarters are too far away. They aren’t on the same landing, though Boromir has asked many times for his brother to reside across or beside him. Denethor doesn’t listen. Faramir’s rooms are out of the way and far smaller, and the latch is easy to slip aside. Boromir steps inside without anyone having seen him, the light of tall windows and memory his only guide. 

The same light guides him across Faramir’s bedroom; the snow makes the moon shine brighter in winter, and the city becomes almost pure white outside. It’s easy to spot the outline of Faramir curled at the corner of his mattress. He’s shivering almost violently, breath coming so loud that Boromir can hear it all the way across the room. It pains him, just like the neglect of his beloved brother always does. He takes swift steps across the floor to drop his makeshift nest over Faramir’s other side. 

“I bring covers,” Boromir announces, even as he unravels one to drape over Faramir’s shrunken form. “You will need them more than me.”

Faramir frowns up at him. There’s no need to say that another set won’t be waiting for them; this disparity is too constant. Faramir shuffles up in bed, clutching at the blankets to fight his own tremours but still muttering, “Boromir, you can’t. I won’t have you cold on my behalf.”

“And I won’t have you cold on mine,” Boromir insists right back. He sees Faramir ready to protest, so he insists in the commanding tone he uses for his troops but softens for his brother, “Take them. I will be alright.”

Faramir takes a moment, but he does nod. He looks saddened, as he so often does, but there’s nothing Boromir can do about that beyond pressing a kiss to Faramir’s forehead. Then he moves to leave, though Faramir grabs his wrist as soon as he’s taken his first step. Looking up with bright, pleading eyes, Faramir asks, “Stay?” He sounds so small, so vulnerable, that Boromir can’t refuse. He licks his lips. Faramir pleads, “We can share, perhaps. No one will ever have to know.”

They say that too often. They’ve made it this far without discovery, and no servants ever come to Faramir’s rooms, but it still reminds Boromir of the danger they invite. Still, he can’t deny Faramir what little warmth he has to share. He gently tugs his hand free of Faramir’s grasp, only to pull off his own boots and cloak. 

He removes his tunic and trousers too, ignoring Faramir’s growing grin and declaring, “We will retain more heat this way.” When he leans over the bed, Faramir obediently lifts his arms over his head so that Boromir can strip his tunic off of him. Boromir quickly tosses the blankets aside to free Faramir’s trousers the same way, though they pull the blankets back before he can get a proper look at the prize he’s unveiled. It doesn’t matter; he knows Faramir’s body better than his own. He kicks his clothes under the bed in case of discovery and slinks over Faramir to the other side, where they can hide him under the sheets if need be. 

It’s much warmer under the blankets with the two of them. They squirm into place, both shivering at first and clenching their teeth to stop the clattering, while their hands smooth the blankets above them, drawing tight together and tucking in all the sides. When Boromir’s hands first brush over Faramir’s skin, it’s icy cold, but the more they writhe along one another, the more they warm, until the accidental bumps bring only pleasant sparks.

They lay side by side at first, facing one another, and Faramir murmurs quietly, “Thank you, Boromir. I don’t know what I would do without my big brother protecting me.”

Smiling, as he so often is when it’s just the two of them alone, Boromir lays his hand over Faramir’s. He wraps his fingers tightly around it, bringing it up to place a chaste kiss atop the knuckles, and he insists, “I am the lucky one, having you to warm my bed.”

“You are the one warming mine,” Faramir chuckles, which makes Boromir grin broader—it’s true enough. 

He does realize how bad it sounds. Saying such a thing about another man, about _his own brother_ , is worse than any sin their father could have imagined for them. But he can’t bring himself to take the words back. If he could have Faramir in his bed every night, he would. Even now, he can’t seem to let go of Faramir’s hand. Faramir’s too precious to him. Any time they create another point of contact, it becomes a part of Boromir’s soul that he couldn’t fathom being without. 

Faramir is the one to snuggle closer. He used to be tentative, nervous and unsure out of belief of Denethor’s hurtful words about his worth, but Boromir took the lead and drew him to it, encouraging everything. He’s never touched Boromir without receiving love in return. Faramir brings them so near that Boromir can feel the little hairs on Faramir’s legs tickling against his own, and then Faramir closes the distance, bringing their mouths together. 

The kiss is chaste at first. It often starts that way, as though they’re _trying_ to be good, but they always fail, open their mouths and let in tongue, tilt to feel _more_ and press forward. Boromir tastes all of Faramir’s lips, pushes into his mouth and laps at his walls, coaxes out his tongue and plays with it between them. He enjoys every part of it: the long line of Faramir’s nose, the light stubble on Faramir’s chin, the cut of Faramir’s jaw. The smell of his brother, the taste and the little mewling sounds that Faramir makes, desperate keening and low-seated moans. They only stop when it’s become too overwhelming, and Boromir is dizzy with want, watching his own brother’s eyes haze over. 

Faramir whispers, sad and longing, “I wish I’d been born your servant instead of brother.” Boromir doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He would have Faramir for an equal, a lover, a husband—but such things could never be. Faramir voices both their fears: “If he knew of this, he’d have me burned alive.”

Boromir doesn’t have to ask who ‘he’ is. Boromir insists, “I would never let that happen.” It comes out a fierce growl. He never, ever would. He cups Faramir’s cheek in one palm, petting back the brown strands. Faramir gives him another kiss. 

Then Boromir turns him gently around. It’s easy to guide Faramir, who listens so implicitly, rolling onto his side so that Boromir can fit their bodies flush together, nestling himself right against Faramir’s ripe skin. It becomes hot quickly—the winter’s no match for them. Boromir buries his face in Faramir’s shoulder, bracketing his legs and holding him around the middle, protective and tight. There’s nothing in the world that could pry Faramir away from him.

The only thing that stands a chance is sleep, but even there, Boromir chases Faramir in his dreams.


End file.
